


Pet The Tribble

by tprillahfiction



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Masterbation, Restraints, Tribble play, blindfold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/pseuds/tprillahfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and McCoy engage in some sexy experimentation with a tribble. Takes place around the ST TOS ep: "The Trouble With Tribbles". (It's not necessary to have seen the ep to make sense of the fic)<br/>Featuring: Sex play with a tribble, masterbation, blindfold and restraints.<br/>McCoy/Spock, Uhura/Chekov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet The Tribble

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the MMOM challenge, day 2 on livejournal.  
> Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to paramount, the tribbles belong to David Gerrold. I own none of them.

"Ooooh!” Uhura said, gasping.  “What is it?  Is it alive?”

Cyrano Jones, the trader, nodded a ‘yes’.

“May I hold it?”

The rotund, kindly man handed it over with a knowing wink.

“Ohhh, it's adorable,” she said.  “What is it?”

“What is it?” Cyrano replied.  "Why…lovely lady…it's a tribble."

"A tribble?"

"A tribble," he said.  "Only the sweetest creature known to man.  Excepting of course…yourself."

"It's purring!" A delighted laugh burst from the communication officer's lips.  "Look, Pavel…it's purring."  She held it over by his ear.

"Great…it's purring," Chekov muttered and looked around at the rest of the patrons in the Space Station K-7 saloon before turning back to face her.  Need he have to remind his beautiful new girlfriend that they'd just come directly from the Evil Kitten Planet?  (Actually " _Evil Kitten Planet_ " was merely the nickname they'd all given it.  Even Spock had started using the moniker).   


In reality, the name was Secura II--a planet inhabited by deadly creatures that appeared to look like adorable tuxedo kittens?  White little feet, white wiskers, cute fluffy black bodies, pink noses…killers that latched onto heads and sucked the brains out of hapless redshirted crewmen?  Did that ring a bell?  Chekov regarded Uhura and this possible killer _'tribble'_ ' warily.

"It's only saying that it likes you," Cyrano told her.

* * *

"How long have you had that thing, Lieutenant?"  McCoy wondered.

"Since yesterday, Doctor.  Then this morning I found out that he, I mean 'she', had had babies," Uhura replied, looking at the assortment of other baby tribbles covering the table in Rec-Room 3.  

"Well, I'd say…in that case, you got a bargain," McCoy murmured, shrugging, picking up the closest one to investigate.

"Are you running a nursery, Lieutenant?"

"Oh…" Uhura looked up at the man who'd just entered the rec-room.  "Captain.  Well, I hadn't intended to, Sir, but the tribble had other plans."

Kirk took in for a moment the noise bouncing off of the bulkheads, it was undeniably, very loud trilling, cooing.  My goodness… it was loud.  "Did you get this at the Space Station K-7?"

"Yes sir.  Aren't they cute?"

"Cute?  Have you forgotten about the 'Killer Kitten Planet?"

"Well, no sir, but these tribbles at least SEEM harmless."

"So did the kittens, Lieutenant," Kirk said, solemnly.  "So did the kittens."

"A most curious creature, Captain," Spock broke in, already petting a soft, white ball of fluff.  "Its trilling seems to have a tranquilizing effect on the human nervous system."  He studied the creature for a moment, then 'experimentally' continued stroking.  "Fortunately, of course, I am…immune...to it’s effects...”

"Fortunately," McCoy replied, watching him, amused.

"Indeed," Spock said, still petting.  He eventually looked up, glanced at the assembled-- staring at him, for some reason-- and placed the creature very delicately down onto the table.  He cleared his throat.  "No further experimentation is necessary."  He turned away with the captain and strode out.

"Of course not, Mr. Spock," McCoy replied, smirking for only a moment.  He turned to the communications officer.  "Lieutenant, do you mind if I take one of these and take it down to the lab, see what makes it tick?"

"Well, alright Doctor, but if you're gonna dissect it, I don't want to know about it."

"I promise, I won't hurt a hair on its head."  He held up the tribble in his hand.  "Wherever THAT is."

* * *

Leonard McCoy entered his quarters, still cradling the tiny little creature.  "Well, little fella, my quarters is your quarters.  Welcome to your new home."  He felt somewhat ridiculous for talking to this creature, even found himself nearly referring to himself as the tribble's new 'daddy'.  Somehow, that just seemed creepy, being as holding the tribble was bizarrely sexually arousing him in the turbo-lift.  Good thing he had been alone in there.  And he was now alone in his quarters.  Fortuitious.  

Spock hadn't been by lately.  Hadn't been by for a long time.  One whole week.  Which wasn't too huge of a surprise, being as there was all the K-7 Space Station crises of the day to attend to;  Nilz Barris and the Klingons and all of those headaches to deal with. Those killer kittens just a few days before.  It was just that--  He didn't want to think that maybe his lover was avoiding him for any reason.

Well…meanwhile, it was only Bones…and the tribble.  Which was cooing, trilling, vibrating, it was so goddamed warm and furry and cute….it was really hitting all the love/lust buttons…Goddamit it…it sure was. 

Maybe it would feel even better on his naked chest.   _Purring.  Warm_.

He licked his lips at the thought.

Nobody would know, would they?

And he was so lonely lately.  Damn that Spock...he--

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, what was he fixin' to do with this thing?

McCoy set the tribble ever so delicately down onto his nightstand.  He shifted as his trousers were getting very tight around the crotch area, getting goddamned uncomfortable.  Once again, he found himself picking the thing back up, unable to leave it the hell alone.

Come on, Bones…just set the tribble down, take a long, water shower, take care of business.  It'll clear out of the mind.  Leave the poor tribble alone.  But, of course, he kept unavoidably stroking the tribble.  It sent shock waves right down to his--Right…down…to the…penis. (gulp)  Oh, he was a goner.  And he was so…damned…lonely.

“Oh to hell with it all,” he grumbled and finally peeled off his uniform. “Nobody will ever know.  Not like I’m gonna hurt it, or anything.”

Goddamn that Spock.

* * *

Many hours later, Kirk paid McCoy a visit in the CMO's office.  "Hi, Bones.  What have you got for a headache?"

“Lemme guess, the Klingons,” McCoy grumbled in return and then added a scowl on top of that.  "Baris?  Spock?"

Kirk shrugged.  McCoy scooped up the bottle of pills off his shelf to dispense and Kirk studied the assortment of tribbles in a glass container on McCoy's desk.  "How many of these did Uhura give you?"

"Just one."

"But you've got…eleven."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"I've also noticed your uniform's a little rumpled."

McCoy made a nasty face. "Hmph".

Kirk's expression softened.  "Awww."

"Shut up." McCoy dumped the pills in Kirks outstretched palm.  "Here.  This ought to take care of it."

"How do they?  How do they…?" Kirk gesticulated.

McCoy held up a hand to stop him.  "Mate?  I haven't figured that out yet.  But I can tell you this much.  Almost 50 percent of this creature's metabolism is geared for reproduction."

"Really?"

"Yeah…and it's got these crazy pheromones too."

"Pheromones?  As in…sexual?"

"Uh huh. They affect the human nervous system."

"Humph.  I hadn't noticed."

“Well, I sure as hell did.” Kirk threw McCoy a sharp glance, and McCoy cleared his throat.  “Well…I, uh, noticed on my sensors, Y' know.  Readings.  I noticed them…”

“Oh.”

“And, guess what, Jim?”

“What’s that?”

“Do you know what you get when you feed a tribble?”

“A fat tribble?”

“No,” McCoy replied.  "You get a whole bunch of hungry little tribbles.” 

“Well, what did you feed this tribble of yours?”

McCoy blushed.  “I don't know.  Nothin’.”

“Nothin’?  You call yourself the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise and you don't even know what you fed your tribble?”

“Does it matter, Jim?  The point is, feeding it ANYTHING, will make--”

“I get it, Bones.  Well, all I can suggest is that you open up a maternity ward.”

* * *

McCoy turned to a perturbed Spock in his lab.  “What’s the matter, Darlin’?”

Spock cleared his throat at that.

“Oh…” McCoy replied, sarcastically.  “Oh, forgive me, please, let me rephrase:  'What is the matter, _Mister Spock_ ’?”

Spock gave him a look.  “There is something disquieting about these creatures.”

“Don’t tell me you've got a feeling,” McCoy snapped, annoyed.

“Do not be insulting, Doctor.  They remind me of the lilies of the field.  They toil not, neither do they spin.”

“Shakespeare?  How romantic.”

“Doctor, that is enough.  The tribbles seem to eat a great deal."

“Yes, they do.” McCoy picked one up and grinned.  “They sure do.”

“I see no practical use for them.”

“Oh?  Does everything have to have a practical use for you?  They're nice and they're soft and they're furry, they’re fun and they make a pleasant sound.”

“So would an ermine violin.  But I see no advantage in having one.”

“What about being in a relationship with the ship’s Chief Medical Officer?  I suppose there’s no advantage in that, either.  Don’t I make a pleasant sound, when I--”

“Doctor,” Spock warned.

“What?  Did I say something wrong?”

Spock gave one of his long suffering sighs.

“It is a human characteristic to love little animals,” McCoy explained to him, abeit sharply.  “Especially if they're attractive in some way.”

“I am well aware of human characteristics.  I am frequently inundated by them, but I have trained myself to put up with practically anything.”

“Spock, I don't know too much about these little tribbles yet, but there is one thing that I have discovered!”

“And what is that, Dr. McCoy?”

“I like them, better than I like you.”

“Oh, Doctor."

“Yes?”

“They do have one redeeming characteristic."

“What’s that?"

“They do not talk too much.  If you'll excuse me, sir.”

McCoy watched him exit.  Well, that exchange was going to shit-can any action tonight.  Good thing he had a tribble, still in his quarters.

* * *

Kirk sauntered from the lift to the captain's chair, musing about the events of the past few hours.  Hard to believe that Scotty would ever get into a fist fight with Klingons and not in defense of his own captain but of the Enterprise.  

Aiming to sit down, Kirk's rear end suddenly made contact with something that shouldn't have been there.  He recoiled, arching back up at the terrified little squawk.  He reached under him and yanked out… a tribble. _A fucking tribble_.  “Oh, for fuck's sake,” he muttered, scanning his eyes around the bridge.  

The bridge was covered in in the furry creatures.  Unbelievable.  Covered in tribbles.  

He was struck by the very sight.  It might have been comical but, Jesus, didn't Uhura bring only ONE of the furry creatures on board?  All of these came from the one little tribble?  Kirk recovered from that, doing a visual check of every station.  First, the Engineering board, it's officer hard at work, good man, even with the station covered in fluffy balls.  Next, navigation/helm.  Mr. Leslie, the navigator, also, doing what he was supposed to do, manning his station.  Excellent.  Mr. Chekov was also, doing what he was--wait a minute.  

Kirk stood up, then calmly sauntered around the helm/navigation.  He snatched the medium sized ball from Chekov's clutches.

Eventually Kirk made his way, with now two tribbles in hand, past his first officer who bizarrely seemed resigned to the fact that the bridge was covered, more so his Science/library station also covered in the cooing little menances.  He reached communications.  "Lieutenant Uhura, what are all these tribbles doing on the bridge?"

"I don't know sir.  They do seem to be all over the ship."

Dr. McCoy entered at that very instant.

“This is all your fault!” Kirk insisted. He thrust a handful of tribbles into the CMO’s arms.

“Mine?!”

“Captain, Dr. McCoy has no control over these creatures,” Spock offered up, oddly quiet.

“Thanks for having my back, Baby,” McCoy said to Spock, beaming.

“Listen, you two!” Kirk snapped.  “Stop making googoo eyes at each other and help me deal with this tribble problem.  Or I'll ban personal relationships between senior officers.”

"What? You wouldn’t dare.” McCoy hissed.

“Just watch me.”

“Doctor, I daresay we must endeavor to assist the captain with the tribble problem.”

“Fine, fine.  We’ll help Jim with his  _tribble problem_.”

Kirk slapped his palm to his forehead.

* * *

“Jim!” McCoy ran into the Space Station K-7 grain storage room. “I got it!  I found the answer!  All you gotta do is stop feeding them!  You stop feeding the tribbles they stop breeding!”

Captain Kirk, neck deep in the hundreds of thousands or (perhaps millions) of little tribbles that had just fallen out of the Space Station K-7’s grain storage system, sighed.  “Now he tells me.”

* * *

_Later..._

Kirk looked around at the now tribble-less bridge of the Enterprise.  “There’s no tribbles!”

“Nope!” McCoy said, smiling at Spock.  “And you won’t find any around on this ship.”

“Doctor, what did you do with them?”

“Actually Jim, it was Mr. Spock who planned the whole thing.”

“Spock?  Where are they?”

“Actually, Captain, it was Mr. Scott who facilitated--“

Where are the all the millions of tribbles, Mr. Scott?” Kirk wanted to know.

“Oh, uh, I gave them a good home, Captain.” 

“WHERE?!” Kirk said, becoming flustered.

“I gave them to the Klingon’s sir.”

“ _You gave them to the Klingons_?”

“Aye.  I transported the whole kit and caboodle, where they’ll be no tribble at all.”

* * *

With all the Enterprise’s tribbles now on board the Klingon ship and the Bird of Prey heading away from the Enterprise on impulse power, Cyrano Jones was sentenced to picking up every last tribble aboard space station K-7 (for the next 20 years).  

Those K-7 tribbles had saved millions of humanoid lives by eating the poisoned Quadrotriticale grain, dying, and thus alerting everyone of the Klingon tampering. 

Kirk breathed a sigh a relief and the Enterprise moved on to her next mission. 

* * *

Later that evening...

“Hey, Darlin’, look what I've got.”  In his quarters, McCoy pulled out a small transparent box out from under his desk.  Inside sat a fluffy grey and white speckled little ball of fur.

“Leonard,” Spock admonished him, his eyebrow darting up.  “All offending tribbles were beamed off ship by Mr. Scott.”

“Obviously not.  And she’s not offending anyone.”

“How did you manage to keep ahold of this creature?”

“Mini Portable shielding.” McCoy replied.  “I don’t have an M.D. and three PhD’s for nothin’ you know.”

Spock rolled his eyes in a perfect impression of McCoy.  “Doctor, need I remind you that harboring a tribble is against the captain’s orders.  All tribbles must be removed.”

“Oh no.  I couldn’t bear to let this one go to the Klingons.  It’s too lovely.  I had to keep it.  Daddy would have missed his little tribble.”

“Daddy?”

“That’s right.  Daddy.”  

“You have gone mad,” Spock declared.

“No I haven’t.  I’m perfectly sane.  Besides, this tribble is kinda useful.  For further experimentation.”

Suddenly, a gleam of curiosity invaded the Vulcan’s hazel eyes, the scientific mind had been aroused, if nothing else.  “Experimentation?  What kind?”

“Oh, my dear Spock,” McCoy drawled out.  “Have you ever... made love... using a tribble?”

Spock eyed him with thinly veiled suspicion.

“Negative.”

“Well...” McCoy dipped his hand into the transparent enclosure, picking up the tribble, cradling it.  “There’s always a first time for everything.”

“Is sexual activity with a tribble not considered bestiality?”

“No, we’re not fucking it, just using it...you know... for fun.  It’s good for us.  Good for the tribble.  Everybody wins.” The tribble cooed loudly in McCoy’s hands.  “She doesn’t mind.”

“You have done something already,” Spock surmised.  “On your own.”

McCoy looked up in all innocence.  “I haven’t hurt a hair on her head.”  McCoy handed the tribble over to Spock, who took it from him reluctantly...and then started stroking it.

“Len...” Spock murmured as he continued what he was doing.

McCoy snorted.  “Len?  You never call me that.”

“I am having...difficulty forming any... coherent thought while in contact with this animal.”

“Don’t think Spock.  Just feel.  How does it feel to pet the tribble?”

Spock continued on petting it, eyes widening.  “Fantastic.”

McCoy smiled in delight.  “Never heard you use that word.  Don’t worry, Lover, the effect of the tribble’s cooing and prolonged physical contact isn't damaging.  Even to that hybrid nervous system of yours.”

“What did you...what did you have in mind...utilizing this tribble?” Spock managed.

“Take your uniform off,” McCoy commanded.

Spock handed the tribble, again very reluctantly, back over to McCoy.  “Tell me.  What are we going to do?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly.”

“Good.” The blue eyes darkened into lust.  Now, take your uniform off.”

The first officer hesitated, then finally undid his collar fastening.  The tunic and black undershirt were pulled up and off. He undid his trousers, sat down on the bunk, unzipped and toed off his boots.  As he stood up again, he let the black pants pool to the deck. He stepped out of them, looking over at McCoy expectantly.

“Something’s wrong,” McCoy whispered. 

“What is?”

“You’re still in your socks and underpants.  Didn’t I tell you to take everything off?  Everything means buck naked.”  McCoy stepped up and applied the creature to Spock’s chest.  Spock couldn’t help but gulp at the contact with the soft fur, breathing a little more heavily. “What did I tell you to do, Darlin'?” McCoy demanded.

“You told me to...um...remove...my uh...underwear and  _ohhh_ \--” Spock let out a soft groan as McCoy moved the tribble down his body, running over both greenish nipples barely visible under all the black chest hair, on it’s way to the Vulcan’s belly.  

“Well then, hop to it.”  McCoy rubbed the tribble around, ghosting over the white standard issue underpants.  An erection was forming, tenting the fabric.  

Spock gasped out, trying to form a sentence but failing.

“Never mind,” McCoy said.  “Shhhh.”  He pushed the Vulcan with one hand.  Spock fell backwards onto the bunk.  

Spock sat up on his elbows and swallowed as McCoy came close again, running the tribble down his thigh, down his legs.

The doctor, still fully clad in his own Sickbay tunic and trousers, climbed on top of Spock and straddled him.  He let the tribble rest on Spock’s chest as he reached over and grabbed a collection of objects from his nightstand.

“Lube?” Spock wondered.

“No, no...” McCoy held it up.  “You’re getting ahead of me.  Blindfold and restraints.  I’m gonna tie you up.” He looked deeply into Spock’s eyes for permission.

Spock nodded, granting it.  McCoy first tied one wrist to the bed, with the extra strong silk restraint, then the other.  He arranged the satin blindfold around Spock’s head, covering the eyes.  McCoy waved his hand in front of the blindfold, got no physical response, then ran a finger on the Vulcan’s side, causing him to twinge.  He kept the tribble resting on Spock, the animal cooing and moving a little on it’s own.  As Spock’s breathing increased with anticipation McCoy pulled off his own tunic and undershirt.  “You okay, Spock? Gimme a safe word, just in case.”

“Red.” Spock’s voice was dozy, almost dreamy in quality as the tribble continued to squirm around on his chest.  McCoy slid off Spock and onto the bed.  He leaned over, pulling off Spock’s underpants.  Spock held up his ass to facilitate it, gasping again as his rock hard cock was exposed to the cool air of McCoy’s cabin.  

Spock lay his head on the pillow.  “It...is so...odd...being blinded and in prolonged physical contact with...this thing...”

“What are you feeling?”

“Euphoria,” Spock replied.  McCoy climbed onto Spock, straddling him once again.  “I cannot...at this time...sense your thoughts...while you touch me.  I am...only able to...barely...speak...”

McCoy leaned down, murmuring into the pointed ear. "Then don't."

Spock struggled to speak again however:  “I feel a... large sensation of pleasure...and calmness...radiating from my cerebral cortex... down to my spine.”

“Good.” McCoy picked up the tribble, ran it down one arm, to the tied up wrist, then back along the sternum, up the neck.  He moved it up slowly to caress the Vulcan’s cheek.  Spock moaned softly.  The warm ball of breathing fur touched the delicate pointy ear.  Spock moaned louder, the tribble cooed even louder and McCoy chuckled.  “Like that, do you?”

Spock mewed,  _actually mewed (unbelievable to McCoy’s ears_ ) in response.  McCoy gave out another breathy giggle, leaned over for a  _filthy_ , wet tongue kiss, all the while keeping the tribble in contact with Spock’s cheek and his own hand, letting the pheromones of the animal wash over the both of them.  He then darted over, sucking on a pointy ear while stroking the other ear once again.

“Len...” Spock gasped.  “I don’t believe...that I can... last much longer...”

McCoy pulled away, removing the tribble.  “You can come, just from me doing this?”

“Yes.”  McCoy watched as the arms flexed the restraints.  

McCoy got up, moved himself so that he was now straddling the Vulcan’s legs, rather than on the hips.  He stared at the immense green tinged erection in awe.  “Don’t come.”

“I am trying not to.”

McCoy spied the leaking of pre-cum at the slit of Spock’s glans.  “Are you enjoying my little tribble, Spock?”

He applied the tribble once again to Spock’s belly.  “ _Uhhhh_ ,” Spock said.

McCoy removed it again.  “Fascinating, that a little bitty little thing like this here tribble can undo a big bad Vulcan like you.”

“Yes, it is rather,” Spock agreed.  His arms tried the restrains again.  “I cannot break out of these.”

“Surprised Spock?  I ordered them just for you.”

“I had not thought of you as sexually adventurous.”

“Really?  Are you trying to say that I’m boring in bed?”

“We have been together awhile.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?  Well?  Am I boring in bed?”  McCoy shifted off Spock’s legs.  Rather than wait for a coherent answer from the Vulcan, he applied the tribble, far away from the testicles and penis, sliding the warm ball of fur down the thigh, down one leg.  

He paused and suddenly burst into laughter.

“What... is... it?” Spock asked.

“You still have your fucking socks on.”

“Is is... cold in... here.”

“I’ll just take one of ‘em off,” McCoy said, sliding off one sock, then applied the tribble to the toes.  As he moved it around, stroking the warm skin, Spock emitted a strangled cry out.

“Ohhh, I know your feet and hands are so sensitive aren’t they?  Know what else is?”

Spock panted, flexing the restraints, as McCoy kept the tribble in contact with his foot, moving it from the toes to the top, then to the ball, then back to the toes.

“Know what else is, Spock?”

Spock let out another strangled moan.  _Flexed._

“Come on, Spock, tell me, what else is sensitive?”

“My...my... cock...”

“Your cock?” McCoy grinned.  “Your  _cock_?  What’s a cock?”

“You know...what it is.  I learned the... vulgar term...from you.”

“Oh, I know, it’s an Earth rooster, right?” McCoy laughed.

“Len...you are... torturing me.  I require... immediate sexual release and... here you are teasing me.  I do not... appreciate... this.”

“Oh?”  McCoy picked up his tribble and replaced Spock’s sock onto his foot.  “Why?  Want me to touch your cock with my little tribble?  Make you come?”

Spock licked his lips once again.  “Yes.”

“No.  I won’t."

“Why not?” Spock asked, a little too forcefully.

“Because, I want you to ask me to.”

“Ask you?” Spock whispered.

“Ask me.”

“Leonard, will you touch my penis with your tribble?”

“No.  No good,” McCoy said.

“I did ask you.”

“Not how I wanted you to.”

Spock sighed in frustration.  “Leonard, will you touch my  _cock_  with your tribble?”

McCoy held up the tribble, “Baby, did you like how Uncle Spocky asked?  No.  Daddy didn’t like it either.”

Spock let out a huff, a Vulcan equilivent to a laugh.  “You  _are_  mad, I know it.”

“Perhaps I am,” McCoy said laughing. “But right now, you’re my prisoner.  Your dick is straining.  Rock hard.  Until you come, you’re stuck here.”

“Or until a red alert. Or you are called on a medical emergency.  Or my next shift.”

“Shut up.  Not even then. I want you to beg me, Spock,” McCoy informed him.

“Beg you?”

“Uh huh. Beg me to touch your cock with my tribble.”

“No.”

“Then you don’t get to come, do you.”

“I will not beg.”

“Then you don’t get to come.”  McCoy sat up on the bed.  “You will stay here.  Tied up.”  He ordered the computer to raise the room temp a few degrees higher for Spock’s comfort.  “I’ll see you later, Spock.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where me and my little tribble are appreciated.” McCoy gave the tribble a kiss.  “Oh, Daddy loves you, Baby.  Come on.”  The doctor moved off the bed.  “I’m putting my uniform back on Spock!” he called out.

“Please,” Spock whispered.   _Flexed._

McCoy immediately walked back over to Spock, sitting down on the bed.  “Please what?”

“I need release.”

“Beg me.  I want you to beg me to touch you.”

Spock swallowed and licked his lips once again.  “Please touch me with your tribble.”

“Touch you where?”

Spock took a deep breath and said much louder with clenched teeth.  “Leonard, will you...  _fuck_...please touch my hard cock with your tribble and make me come..." He flexed again, "please...  _will you please_?”

“Alright!” McCoy said, eyes widening.  “Okay!  He straddled the Vulcan’s hips again.  “Jeezus.  Why didn’t you say so?”

To put Spock out of his misery, McCoy placed the tribble very gently onto the belly, and let the tribble  _walk on it’s own_  down the Vulcan’s happy trail, past the black public hair and finally hitting Spock’s aching manhood.

Spock cried out sharply and came on the spot, squirting white ribbons of come over McCoy, his own chest and the bed. 

“Holy shit!” McCoy gasped out.

Spock panted as McCoy ripped open his own trousers, yanking down his underwear.  Leonard picked up the little tribble, kissed it as he took his own dick in hand, jerking it forcefully, crying out as he came hard, his semen mixing with Spock’s.  

He collapsed onto Spock, still holding the tribble, briefly letting it go as he lay there breathing heavily. 

After long moments of trying to come down, McCoy reached up and removed the blindfold, then undid the wrist restraints.

Spock briefly rubbed his own wrists, then wound his arms around Leonard.

McCoy looked up at him, smiling.  

He lay on Spock’s chest and was about to doze off, when Spock suddenly asked: “Leonard...what is the tribble eating?”

McCoy sat up and looked down.  “Oh no!”

* * *

“Look what I have,” Uhura cooed to Chekov as she pulled out a transparent box with a little ball of fur inside.

“A tribble?” Chekov asked.  “That is not allowed.”

“What the captain doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”

“How did you manage to keep this one?” Chekov wondered.

“Honey, they don’t call me head of communications for nothing.  I managed to configure a mini scrambling device onto this box, so she wouldn’t be beamed off ship.”

“Ah...” Chekov said.  “Nice work.  I think.”

“You ever, make love...utilizing a tribble?” Uhura asked him.

* * *

Jim Kirk picked up the little tribble, stroking it along his bare chest.  Good thing he rigged up this miniature transporter beam blocking device.  True it was against his own orders to have a tribble aboard ship, but what the rest of the crew didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt ‘em.   

Besides, he was lonely and this little tribble made him feel so good. 

 

____________

fin

 


End file.
